


No, fucker, I haven't seen myself in about 200 years.  Mirrors, remember?

by NotWithABangButWithAWhimper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampires, M/M, PWP, Sorry I suck at Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotWithABangButWithAWhimper/pseuds/NotWithABangButWithAWhimper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are vampires, talking for the first time, kind of flirting, until Dean jokingly says "Have you even SEEN yourself?!" to which Sam replies "No, fucker, I haven't seen myself in about 200 years.  Mirrors, remember?" and they go on to describe each other's appearances.  PWP, but well.  not so much WP?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, fucker, I haven't seen myself in about 200 years.  Mirrors, remember?

“It’s stupid you call me Sammy. I’m 368 years old, dude. You’re only four years older than me. Which is like, fuck nothing in vamp years,” Sam muttered, eyes shut, “I hate even having to go by Sam, but Samuel’s awkward as fuck,” his continued, voice slowly trailing off. 

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

Samuel kept his mouth shut this time, careful and worried that if he spoke again, argued more with Dean then he’d stop touching him. Dean’s fingers were splayed across his cheeks, warm pads making his skin hypersensitive. 

“You have crazy warm skin, and it’s smooth, but you’re marked up, scars and bumps and don’t get self-conscious on me, okay? Your skin is rough, thick and feels strong. You’re tan, almost golden brown, and I like it because vamps are supposed to be so pale, you know?” Dean continued his exploration, description of Sam, his taking of Sam apart, piece by piece. 

Placing the pads of his thumbs in the center of Sam’s forehead, slowly dragging them out to Sam’s temples, “Your face is wide, and like. Flat but not in a bad way. Your eyebrows are dark, deep brown like your hair, the exact same shade. Your…is it called a brow? Is…strong, I guess would be the word. Shit, sorry I’m so bad at this…” Dean awkwardly squirmed back a few inches, reluctantly letting his hands begin to fall from Sam’s face.

A displeased sound slipped out of Sam’s mouth and before he could stop himself, he reached up and pressed Dean’s hand to his cheek again, the other vampire’s hand warm between his cheek and palm. Realizing what he’d done, and slowly opening his eyes again, he hesitantly made eye contact with Dean. “I uh…it just, um, it feels. Good. I don’t, well. I don’t get touched a lot. Sorry if that’s, ah, pathetic. Other vamps don’t tend to like me, I’m…I don’t ah, use the usual tactics to feed, and I’m not really the…the tough-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold-that-took-too-many-risks type that usually gets turned. I was…well, I was the accidental baby, basically.” He stammered to a stop, finally shutting his nervous speech.

Dean ducked his head a little and grinned, spiked hair pointing straight at Sam while he momentarily bit his lip and tried to hide his nonexistent blush. 

“I hate to tell you this, Dean, but you uh, can’t blush anymore. Though I bet you had a killer one in the day,” Sam reached out this time, Dean’s invisible blush giving him confidence, and that lip bite, _god_. His the pad of his thumb lightly rested on the crease dead center of Dean’s lower lip, “Your lips are really full. Your face is thin-ish, and your cheekbones, fuck, they’re high and smooth. You have an ass-ton of freckles, dude, and wrinkles in your forehead like you frown a lot. Which you shouldn’t, I bet you have an amazing smile. Those _lips_.” Dean’s eyes had fluttered shut, his lips parting and his hot breath on his skin was giving Sam goose-bumps.

Sam shifted his hands, cupping Dean’s jaw now, fingers curling behind the bones beneath his ears, thumbs resting on those cheekbones. “Your jaw is strong, like, ah, like you said my brow was. Prominent. Really, ah, it’s actually really sexy. Very masculine.” Dean smirked. 

“Really dude? You’re smirking? People fucking do that?” Sam teased, delighted by the expression as it deepened on Dean’s face. He swiped a thumb across Dean’s lip and unconsciously brought it to his own, flicking his tongue out, tasting only the sweat on his own thumbprint. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but inexplicably he was disappointed. Sam continued,  
“When you smile, the lines around your mouth are deep and really cute. Your nose is thin on the ridge, but you have…angular nostrils. I know that doesn’t sound good, but like. Trust me, man, it is. It looks like you got caught with perpetual stubble, asshole, and you have dirty blonde hair. It looks brown in any shadow. And only slightly blonde in the light even, but it’s definitely there. Honestly, you’re impossible; how the fuck do you put gel in your hair when you can’t look in a goddamn mirror?” Sam paused,

“I just…hold on, okay?” and Sam, lightly cupping Dean’s jaw again, and leaning slowly down to Dean’s parted lips, his mouth fallen slack again as Sam had cupped and stroked his jaw. Slowly and carefully, he slipped his top lip into the gap between Dean’s. He gently caught his full bottom lip between his, wet and warm, swiping his tongue across the lined pink skin of Dean’s lips, still achingly slow and gentle, genuinely, curiously and sincerely exploring Dean’s mouth. He pulled back even slower, letting Dean’s lip slide from his as he pulled away. His lips were left parted slightly wider, and Sam liked the thought that his breath was in the small warm puffs falling out of Dean’s mouth. 

“You taste like warmth and sweat, and like dry winter air. If that makes sense. I don’t. Ah, get to talk to people much either. Sorry if I...ah, yeah. Well.”

“No,” Dean’s voice was rough and a little husky, and he cleared it, “It makes sense. Can I…Can I taste you?” Dean was hesitant, feeling like if he moved too fast or startled the moment then it would vanish. And god, he hadn’t felt intimacy like he felt right now in years. Sam’s wide eyes were enough for him to hang onto the hope that this wouldn’t end badly, and Dean laid his hand on the back of his neck. Gently, he pulled his face towards his own, unconsciously wetting his lips. When Sam’s mouth was finally pressed firmly against his again, Dean laved his tongue across Sam’s lower lip, dipping slightly into the gap to meet Sam’s teeth, trace the ridges of their tips with his tongue. Sam groaned, so light Dean shouldn’t have heard it but he _felt_ it, sweet Jesus. The vibration rocked through his lips and tickled the tip of his tongue, and fuck if his hips didn’t buck involuntarily. 

Dean pushed forward, forcing Sammy back onto the ground, planting one knee on either side of Sam’s legs, left hand planted firmly onto the ground, his right hand buried in his long hair, tangled up in it and fisted at the base of his skull. Sam’s hands were hooked behind his neck, his right hand bunching Dean’s flannel, having opened the snaps and knotted in the wifebeater underneath.  
“You taste like warm skin, and the way a breath of cold air feels, and cinnamon, and I just, _Sam_ …”

“Dean.” Sam’s whisper was husky, low and _wrecked_.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Dean pressed a harder kiss into Sam’s lips, reveling in the way that the man under him just opened up for him, soft and warm, fucking wet mouth just blossoming softly under his tongue, letting him swipe it just inside Sam’s lips, letting him really feel Sam moan and _fuck,_ Dean was hard just from the few kisses they’d traded. Sam leaned his head back, bared his neck to Dean and instead of pressing his lips to it, he buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck while his hips, soft and smooth, rolled against Sam’s, just a slow dirty grind that he kept up, pressure high and heat higher, his mouth going slack from how unbelievable it felt to have someone pressed against him again, mouthing hot and wet, loose open mouthed presses against Sam’s collar bone.

Sam arched his back and gasped, catching his bottom lip in his teeth to stifle the noise. He bucked his hips up, catching the friction and working himself on it, grinding back hard and long. His hands were up in Dean’s sweater at this point, thumbs digging into the grooves of his muscles, dragging down his sides to clutch tightly, hip bones slotting into the dip of his palms.  
Suddenly launching himself up, flipping Dean over, Sam caught his wrists and pressed them down under the heel of his palm, balancing himself with his knees bracing one of Dean’s legs, grinding the hard line of his cock into the V of Dean’s hips. He smirked into the brace of Dean’s collarbone as he listened to his gasps. Dean’s hands were knotted hard and demanding on the button down.

“How do you, ah, feel about being bitten?” Sam asked softly, sucking and licking over the joint of Dean’s shoulder connecting to his neck. 

“By you?” Dean whispered back, “I’ve never tried that. But uh, wow, keep doing….yeah that sounds okay, I’d like that,” his hands were clutching at Sam’s back now, nails digging through the shirt, both in apprehension and anticipation as well as the fact that Sam’s cock rubbing his kept sending sparks so hard up his spine, pooling heat so low in his belly that he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.  
Dean shivered as he felt Sam’s teeth elongate, the sharp deadly points barely scraping over his skin, “Just ah, don’t tear me up,” he joked nervously, knowing how hard it was to stop sometimes.  
“Have you ever drank from another vamp?” Sam’s words were lisped slightly, teeth getting in the way.

“Not yet?” Dean tried.

“It’s not like drinking from a person. You can…You can feel them with you, in you, the same way a human’s lifeblood gives us strength, a vampire’s…life, I guess, his everything is transferred just a little bit, it feels like an echo and you can feel…everything from them. What they think and feel and what you’re doing to them and it’s…incredible,” Sam paused, “I used to, um, do it with Jess. My mate.”

Dean stilled, the restless stirring of his hips finally stopping, letting that weigh in his mind for a moment. “Do it.”

“What?”

“Do it. Taste me, bite me. Be with me, come on, really. Pull out of your head, and come back to here. Bite me.”

Sam buried his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, teeth rubbing uncomfortably inside his mouth, pushing against his lips. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yes, god yes, come on. Let me feel you. Please, Sammy.”

Hesitantly, opening his mouth, Sam let the sharp points of his teeth settle against the warmth of Dean’s skin, feeling the muscle pulse beneath his tongue, under his lips, and fuck if he wasn’t back at full hardness in a moment. Feeling Sam’s cock throb, Dean was moaning underneath him again and Sam couldn’t not anymore, the delicious anticipation curling in his gut and he had to take, taste, and give back, he couldn’t not. 

Sliding his teeth smoothly into the thick bulge of the muscle, Sam’s mouth exploded with taste, and he drank greedily. Barely aware that Dean was moaning, throaty, deep sounds that erupted from his throat wantonly, “Oh fuck, Sammy, god please don’t stop that, let me, god, let me,” he grinding his hips up, canting them so if Sam’s cock wasn’t trapped against his belly by the weight of his jeans, it’d be rubbing against the head of Dean’s hole, and _oh fucking Christ, that’s a thought_ , and then Dean was unbuttoning his shirt, nimble long fingers making quick work of the obstacle, then spreading flat and large on his rib cage, possessive and claiming. 

Feeling drunk on the taste, and the sudden rush of Dean’s lust that ran over him, Sam slowly pulled away, licking his lips and cleaning off his teeth, not wanting a single bit to go to waste. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into Dean’s shoulder again, his hips still grinding against Dean’s, keeping the pace slow and rough, hard and almost to the point of it hurting, leaving them both gasping. He let Dean’s hands up, bracing himself on floor behind him, shoving his sweat damp hair out of his face and half tugging off the rumpled button down. 

Dean surprised him in the shift and rolled them over onto Sam’s back. “Four years on you can still get your on your back,” he growled, breath curling around his ear and _oh fuck god,_ he hadn’t been on his back for anyone in a long time, and that thought had heat raging up his spine, curling and burning low in his belly. Until right there, he realizes Dean’s stopped moving and he’s still grinding up, only to falter now, insecurity freezing its way through him, Dean’s forehead resting against his collarbone, breathing hard as fuck, until “Can I…can I taste you too?”  
“Oh god yeah,” Sam breathes out, arching his back and his neck and basically offering himself up on a fucking platter, this big man with a few inches on even him, a couple dozen pounds, spread out under Dean and _goddamn_ if it doesn’t go _right_ to his dick. He lets his teeth slide out, his second set, and rewraps his left hand in Sam’s hair, and god he hopes Sammy doesn’t mind because if he does he’s got to have a headache by now with how Dean’s been knotting his hands that silky brown right at the base of Sammy’s throat. He doesn’t think so though, because Sam just gasps and Dean can feel his cock throb again and fuck, Sam’s big. 

He scrapes the tips of his teeth across a small patch of Sam’s neck, thick muscle bulging beneath his mouth, and he backs off a little to see the small lines of blood well up, before licking a broad stripe across the thin red lines, shuddering as he feel s Sammy gasp and the thick cock at his thigh throb and pulse. 

“I want you to come, while I’m drinking you.” He growls, suddenly possessive and needing to make Sam come, force it out of him and wrack him with the pleasure of an orgasm. Because of what _Dean_ did. 

“I, fuck, Dean I’ve never…I don’t know if I will…” all but whimpered under him and fucking hell, if they didn’t’ get this show on the road, Dean was going to be the one who came like a teenager in his pants, and on this side it was without an order.

“You will,” knotting his hand tighter in Sam’s hair, in a way that had to be bordering on pain now, and sank his teeth in viciously, roughly and without ceremony, slicing into the muscled bulk of Sam’s shoulder, feeling the man go rigid beneath him as he ground his cock down harder, more, painfully and not enough and too much all at once, and Sam gave a strangled whimper and Dean could feel him pulsing, hard, cock throbbing and twitching as it pumped out come, filling Sam’s boxers and sticking to his skin and at the visual it was all Dean could do to rip himself away from Sam’s neck, rip open his own jeans while shoving up Sam’s shirt and pump himself once, possessive instinct begging him to mark Sam’s skin, to fucking take him and mark the man as his.  
And then Dean’s come is hitting Sam’s skin, spilling onto his stomach, pooling between the muscles and _god fucking damnit_ does it force an aftershock through him, and he bucks, grinding up against the inside of Dean’s legs, against his balls as he groans and clutches Dena’s hips, needy and slutty and fucking _debauched_ , Dean thinks.

Sam’s head bounces back onto the ground, and Dean falls to his right. They’re quiet for a moment, catching their breath and regaining faculties before,

“Hey,” Dean mumbles, “don’t get mad that I came all over you.”

“Hey,” Sam responds, echoing, “Don’t get mad when I beg you to do it again,” and then they’re laughing, Sam’s pulling off his shirt to wipe his stomach off with and Dean is rolling onto his back, buttoning himself up to find that he actually ripped the button off in his haste. 

“fuck, these were my favorite ones…”

“Seriously? You’re actually concerned about your clothes? Come on, you fucking girl, get them off. Please sir, may I have another.” Sam spits at him, laughing and sarcastic and happy all at once, and then he’s leaning over and he kisses Dean so casually, so soft and so familiar, and Dean’s hand curls at the back of his head, so different from his rough direction earlier and Sam thinks, _people don’t touch him either_ and he resolves to, every hour of every day for the rest of eternity because they actually have it.

Then he resolves to stop thinking, as Dean rolls on top of him, doesn’t grind or thrust, just continues the soft kiss before pulling away and leaning his forehead on Sam’s.  
“So are you the ‘lone wolf’ type, you asshole, or is this…could I…well, we…um.” He stutters to a stop, cringing and nervous against Sam’s skin. 

“God, just stop, you’re embarrassing yourself,” and he pulls Dean up for a kiss, Dean’s smile against his lips making his heart beat hard against his ribs. Slowly, he slides his hand up until it can intertwine with Dean’s, pressed beneath his in while he holds himself up. “Yeah, okay?” Sam whispers into Dean’s mouth, “Yeah, we can.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write much porn, but if y'all have any comments or criticism, I love the encouragement (:


End file.
